A Pristine Disappointment

Her “beauty[…] was the radiance of an opium-dream[…] Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Dear Master,

Although starting a letter with a quotation is unorthodox, I feel the words of your idol best describe the home I’ve secured for us. The house itself is a pristine disappointment. However, the lack of corruption mutilating our new walls will mean nothing after you glance upon the mad angel who lurks next door. I’ve included a sketch.

Your eternal servant,
Igor

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the wee notes…
– A house behind twisted trees (see below) made me think of my beloved Poe, and of his love for the gnarled and uncanny. I went digging for a piece out of Odessa Begay’s Edgar Allan Poe coloring book, which I colored in a rather imaginative way *cough*.
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the fun. Then follow this LINK, to read what others have dragged from behind the fence.
– Linked to Prompt Nights ~ Fly (0ver) Friday.

inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “Ligeia”
colored to mad life by moi

photo by J Hardy Carroll

Sometimes Peace and Shame Must Dance Together

“The white sculpture arrived when the birds stopped singing. It sealed the treaty between us and the Mythicals—they gave us magic, we repaid with Essence. Everybody said Essence was hippy crap. Then, Jack Evans died.”

“County records say the Evans family relocated, sir. Why think he’s dead?”

I looked at my old hands, and said, “I… told Jack ‘Real men touch The White’—we kids call it that. Jack touched The White… It turned red and swallowed him.”

“This happened years ago. Why speak now?”

“Because I turned fifteen today… and looked it, until my family repaid the Mythicals.”

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a wee note…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the writing yum. Then follow this LINK, to read what others have crafted out of the sculpture.

photo by Jennifer Pendergast

Be One with the Hammer

The little bastard burst through the kitchen window, ax in hand, before evening tea. Shattered glass clinked against the sink, stovetop, and a hissing teakettle.

“Everything okay, Carlo?” my sister called from the den, where she had been discussing hammer meditation techniques with one of her friends and our next-door neighbor.

Before I could answer, the garden gnome pressed the blade of his ax to the side of my left knee. He grinned… with too many teeth… inches from my crotch… “Speak,” he said, “and my ax will kiss you lame.”

My lack of response must’ve worried my sister because she walked into the kitchen, followed by the other women.

“Isn’t he cute?” our neighbor said, extending a hand towards her gnome.

Unlike most readers of crappy horror might expect, everything didn’t happen too fast.

My sister’s voice sounded as if it was being filtered through marmalade, when she yelled, “Look at his teeth, you old batty.”

The old batty continued moving towards the gnome, disregarding the jagged teeth cramming his crimson mouth.

My sister and her friend reached for our neighbor, but before they could tackle her, the gnome had rushed forward and chopped her arm at the elbow.

I smacked the gnome on the side of the head with the teakettle. The hot water ruined the red of his cap, but did little for his bloodthirstiness.

The gnome turned to face me. I stepped back, bumped into the sink. He smiled. My hands were torn between protecting my most vital organ and grabbing a rolling pin.

My sister’s friend solved my dilemma—she pulled a sledgehammer out of who knows where, and smashed the gnome to bits, while chanting, “Be one with the hammer.”

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Our neighbor lost one arm, but not her love for gnomes. “They’re cute little devils,” she said, when I suggested hammers and teakettles as alternative garden decorations.

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a wee note…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Title-Tale (Poetry and Flash Fiction with Magaly): I invited a bunch of Garden dwellers (yes, you and me too) to write a new 3-stanza poem or a very short story (of 313 words or fewer) inspired by 1 of 13 slightly strange book titles. I chose How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack: Defend Yourself When the Lawn Warriors Strike (and They Will), by Chuck Sambuchino.